


Moulage

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Twitter Fic [8]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury Recovery, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: For the first time since the accident, Ben feels happy. It's not lost on him that Halloween and all of the dressings of the holiday allow him some respite from the obvious. When he meets a bold fellow-reveler who seems not to care, his night is only bound to get more interesting.*Author note warnings are a clarification of themes re: insecurities, scars, and intimate contact. CD mention is Han.





	Moulage

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted (mostly) on twitter. Inspired by a Richard Siken bot post:
> 
>  
> 
> _And the part where I push you flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks, shut up, I'm getting to it._
> 
>  
> 
> Please see end notes for additional warnings regarding Ben's scar, his feelings about it, and Hux. Please excuse any medical inaccuracies.

Ben tumbles out the back door of the bar, maybe a maybe a little drunk and utterly happy for the first time since the wreck. Maybe he's just drunk on the joy, he hasn't had much at all and he's sure he forked over fifteen dollars for ice and juice with a theme-appropriate name slapped on.

His father is gone and his mother can't bear to look at him most days--but  _fuck_ if tonight nothing can touch him.

It's Halloween and no one notices him. No one realizes that the twist of pinkish, discolored flesh across his face is anything else but latex and cotton and expertly applied paint. No one gives him a second look except to tell him how  _awesome_ it looks. They all want to know if he's done it himself. In a sense, he has.

He takes the pat on the back and moves on. It's enough to have a room full of people who are unafraid to look him in the eye.

He'll deny that any of this means something to him in the morning, when all the ghouls have gone home and he's just  _Ben_ again. He'll say it was a gentle buzz from the snobby craft beers the bar serves that did him good, helped him loosen up. The soft haze of everything--the couple of drinks he's had and the low flickering lights in the pretentious backyard behind the bar--tricks his brain. It makes him forget to squint. The blur is ambiance, not a failing of his vision and how his eye will never be the same.

The air outside is somehow impossibly both crisp and warm. The sharpness of autumn cuts through everything when it's still. He's glad for the soft leather shell of his jacket and the knit cap jammed into his pocket, but when the soft breeze finds its way between the tall buildings around the yard it's oddly warm. To be chilled with no gooseflesh on his arms is strange.

"Yeah, sure," he mumbles to himself, searching his pockets in vain for his lighter. "Global warming's  _definitely_ fake."

Ben sighs and plunks down on the swing seat at the far end of the narrow cement patio. The ropes holding him aloft groan subtly as he pushes himself back and forth with his heel on the ground. He surveys the yard and the nebulous shapes of cafe tables and folding chairs. It seems that the rest of the space has been filled in with paving stones since the last time he'd been here, months and months ago. He leans back against the swing and peers out from under the awning at the slice of dark sky the buildings around afford him.

"My kingdom for a cigarette!" he calls out to the moon, the only thing not washed out by the glow of the city.

The door opens, sounds of laughter and smells of food and drink, and the general warmth of everything spill out into the little yard. It closes slowly on a pressurized hinge, the screen door outside slapping back with a violent clatter.

Ben keeps looking up at the bright disk of the moon, unbothered by the  intrustion and too comfortable to care for any greeting.

"Oh," the person says. "I didn't think anyone else was out here."

Ben raises a brow and sits up, the exceedingly  _proper_ accent piquing his interest. There are nearly nine million people in the city but it's surprisingly rare to hear anything other than the local drawl.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

Ben grins, the universe delivering. "If you let me bum one?"

The guy's costume is too good, like he's thrown on some very expensive, very specific fetish-wear. The charcoal colored uniform is impeccably tailored. Buttons gleam white like the moon against the starchy front of his shirt, open too far to fit any dress-code. His little cap looks like its from some fancy boys' school. It sits jauntily on his head, balanced just-so over his bright coppery hair.

He notices Ben looking and purses his lips, feet coming together in his very polished shoes under the scrutiny. It seems like muscle memory. The hem of his pant legs, Ben notes, are just  _barely_ too short--certainly not enough to ruin the look.

"Old school uniform," he says nonchalantly, holding his pack of cigarettes out. "Why should the girls have all the fun?"

Ben laughs, still smiling and nodding in agreement. His face pulls tight, just a little uncomfortable with the motion of the expression.

"Do you need a light?" Ben clamps the cigarette between his lips and leans forward to the offered flame. He cups his hands around the pale things holding the lighter and sucks softly to make it catch. "What are you supposed to be? An ax victim or something?"

Ben coughs around the smoke in his chest, exhaling in shaking bursts like an amateur. "Yeah," he sputters,"Got in a fight with Lizzie Borden--she won."

The guy with the cigarettes turns, blowing smoke away from them into the breeze. "Sorry, I'm not very well versed on American murderesses."

He steps just another few feet away, flicking ash onto the concrete and leaning his shoulder against the support beam for the little overhang. He looks like a still from a movie there in the semi-darkness just outside the light around the door.

Ben puffs quietly for a few moments, enjoying the burn and the awful taste of the cigarette. "What the hell is this thing?" he asks, completely unable to place the flavor.

"Clove." A white finger moves to red lips. "It's my last few. Miracle I got them into the country, really. My friend's bags were completely trashed at customs. I'll have to make an excuse to go all the way home just to enjoy a smoke."

Ben frowns and shrugs and inhales again. Once he's past the taste it's smoother and warmer, like liquid in his throat and chest. Cigarette between his fingers, he holds out his free hand. "I'm Ben, by the way."

He feels every last ounce of his new acquaintance's gaze before he take's Ben's hand and shakes it once, firmly and efficiently.

"Hux," he pauses, hand still wrapped around Ben's in a way that seems like he's been taught how a  _man_ does it properly. "That's really quite good, you know. Are you into all that?" He takes his hand back to gesture at his own face. "Makeup? Film student, I'd wager. You work on one of those crime shows they film here now, right?"

Ben laughs, the slightest bitter edge to it, and takes another drag. "No, not at all. I haven't got a creative bone in my body." He pauses, feeling just a bit reckless. "I'm into Medieval lit... and it's not makeup, actually."

Hux looks at him like he isn't sure if he's just been told a terrible joke or not. "Excuse me?" he asks, his tone appalled.

Ben clears his throat and pushes off with his heel again, setting himself into a gentle swing. "I was in an accident." Hux makes a face. "I swear I'm not trying to be like, spooky--oh, hook-hand-car guy!" He gestures in futility at his face, ash flying as he does and falling into a little post-apocalyptic storm on his jeans. "This is really what I'm working with."

Hux swears under his breath and looks away again. "Braver man than I," he mutters and plants his cigarette between his lips, rushing through the last of it before he stubs the end in the tray just beyond the patio. "Are you here alone?"

Hux blanches for a moment, fingers twitching toward his jacket pocket and the neat square bulge of the cigarette pack. "I mean to say," he makes a put-out sound, words seeming to fail him for a moment. "It just seems. Odd." He frowns, his red mouth twisting down attractively. "Were you just waiting to tell someone that?"

Ben blushes hard, face hot and red right to the tips of his ears. "No! No. I -- I'm sorry. That was kind of blunt, wasn't it?" Hux pulls another face. "I've just been taking the compliments, less weird for everyone."

He clamps his lips shut and looks away, puffing furiously on his cigarette until it's finished. He crushes it under his heel. Hux is watching him, his place holding up the building resumed.

"Is it," he falters, trying to choose his words carefully. "Was it recent?"

Ben shakes his head and stands, taking a few aimless steps off the patio and onto the paved space of the yard. It wasn't the thing was just ugly. It had taken longer for all the other injuries to heal--his cracked ribs, the busted lung. "It's pretty horrific, isn't it?" he adds. He turns his face into the weak light, posing.

Hux asks why he doesn't just have a surgeon fix it? Ben shrugs and traces the toe of his boot across the smooth pavers.

"I thought about it. Too many risks, I guess. 'Lot going on in your face. And I just..."

He trails off and looks back up at the bit of sky above them, deep and soft and dark.

"I don't really want to. It would just be to make everyone else comfortable. Fuck them, you know?"

Ben nearly startles when Hux speaks right beside him. "Does it hurt?"

Ben shakes his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Hux's hand flutters, undertain, and settles at his side again. He clears his throat. "It, um, sometimes it's uncomfortable. But it doesn't really hurt a lot. I think that's mostly in my head. Vision is shit now."

When he first noticed the change they'd done all sorts of scans and tests. He can't remember whether they'd decided it was because of the damage to his face and the effected nerves, or if it was because of the way his head had whipped around.

He laughs to clear the tension and closes his left eye, focusing on Hux with the blurry right. "My options are glasses or walking around like a pirate." Hux's lips press into a slow smile. "And I'm too vain for either one."

Hux looks away, licks his lips, and asks, "May I?"

His hand comes up again, fingers splayed like some old master painting. Ben nods. Hux's fingers are warm and dry against his cheek. "Can you feel that at all?"

Ben answers quietly. He can feel it. The thickest part of the scarring is a little numb, but he can, mostly. He closes his eyes, heart hammering in his chest.

Not even his mother has dared touch him, seemingly afraid, like it will make everything too real.

Hux moves, shifting himself in front of Ben. "May I?" he asks again, unoccupied hand hovering at Ben's waist just inside the warm shell of his jacket.

Ben is silent, he nods.

Hux raises his brow expectantly.

"Yes," Ben finally says out-loud. Hux's eyes sparkle, Ben thinks, even though that's really impossible in the dim space beyond the low light on the patio.

Hux's fingers dance along the edge of the scarring, just touching the thinnest part on his cheek. His nerves tingle in that strange region between feeling and unfeeling. The hand on his hip presses in just above his belt, making him conscious of the warmth and weight of it.

"May I?" Hux asks again, taking a small step forward. He looks down at Ben's mouth, the quickest flick of his eyes. 

"Yes," Ben affirms, voice froggy.

Several things race through his mind in the seconds before Hux;s lips touch his. First, that Hux is a complete stranger. Second, that Hux must be some kind of mind reader. Ben has spent months upon months with doctors and nurses and physical therapists poking at him with hardly a thought to his wants or feelings, only the job that they must do. Third, that he very much wants to put his hands on Hux, too. Fourth,  _fuck_ \-- he can't even figure out which thoughts are which.

"You can kiss me back, you know," Hux murmurs against his lips. He realizes he's just been standing there stiff as a board. Hux draws back enough to look him in the face. "Or have I made a mistake?"

Ben shakes his head and says that he hasn't, he's just surprised. Ben knows it registers on his face. Everything does. He's never been able to tell a good lie or play a successful round of poker in his whole life. His father joked that Ben had inherited exactly nothing from him. If he could walk around with a mask on all the time he would.

Hux licks his lips again. His hand comes to rest against the small of Ben's back and he swivels them around like they're dancing, guiding them around the tables and chairs. At least, that's the way Ben's body reacts, muscle memory from all of those society parties as a teenager clicking on. His own hands fall easily at Hux's shoulder and catch the one that's been touching his face in an odd hold, half leading and half being led.

Hux laughs out loud and they collide with the wall. All of the buildings in this neighborhood are made of the same old red brick. The string of Christmas lights tacked right into the mortar brush the top of his head where they've drooped and fallen, the plug dangling useless a few feet away.

The scratchy surface is grounding against the back of his head when he yanks off his cap. It's suddenly far too hot.

"My friends are inside," Ben says in lieu of anything else more interesting.

Hux shifts and puts both of his hands back on Ben's waist. "Mine too," he murmurs, "I'm sure they don't miss me." He pauses, head cocked to the side. "Do you need to get back to them?"

Ben shakes his head and closes the distance between them, kissing Hux clumsily but effectively.

The brick behind him is cool and the body pressed to his front is warm. Hux's hands are firm, persistent. He makes little questioning noises as he moves them, always pausing for some kind of affirmation. He pulls back, a little breathless, with a cocksure grin on his face. "I like you, Ben."

Ben snorts, "You don't know me."

Hux shrugs, fingers tracing the ribbing along the collar of Ben's shirt. "I like what I do know. You think awful loud, Ben."

Hux leans back in, lips wet and soft against Ben's throat, hands smoothing over his chest and down across his stomach.

"Can I touch you?" Hux whispers into the space behind his ear. Ben says yes in a rush of breath. Everything is happening very fast. The night and his exhilaration and his introduction to Hux.  _Of course_ he wants to be touched. He wishes for a moment that Hux had a few more hands.

Hix loose belt slaps against his thigh, his zipper opened. He gasps and chokes on his own saliva. Hux laughs at him, warm hand slipping down between Ben's jeans and his shorts, moving him. He swears and Hux laughs again, shutting him up with another sound kiss. Ben sees stars when Hux touches him for  _real_. His palm is so soft, so smooth; like he's never worked a single day in his life; like stories in Ben's textbooks years ago about ladies and lords and how their skin is a badge of their status and Ben wonders if the soles of his feet are the same.

Ben's brain is utterly useless, he realizes. A soft mush in his head that barely puts a coherent string of thoughts together.

He's hard in record time under Hux's touch and it's embarrassing only for the moment before Hux twists his wrist.

Ben's hands move from the brick to Hux and back again before settling around Hux, holding his body against himself like he might disappear. He can't help the heaviness of his breathing. Hux settles into the oppressive embrace, leaning his smooth, creamy cheek against the unblemished side of Ben's face.

His teeth nibble gently at Ben, tongue finding the corner of Ben's mouth and tempting him closer. The strangeness of someone else's hands sticks in his head, making him flag in desperate confusion. Hux tuts like he's missed an obvious bit of arithmetic and leans back, catching Ben's eye.

It's overwhelming, the weight of his gaze, even dipped in shadow as they are.

Problem solved, Ben thinks, and thanks the deepest part of his lizard brain. He doesn't dare close his eyes. He comes as quietly as he can into Hux's grip, shooting and smearing like a bumbling virgin listening to pirated porn. He's sweating and his knees are weak when he's done and Hux seems to want him to  _die_ from over-stimulation because he keeps rubbing persistent little circles with his thumb  _right_ at the tip. Ben swears a blue streak until he stops.

"Was it good?" Hux asks and Ben can't give him much more than a ridiculous giggle in response.

Distantly, Ben registers the sound of the door opening and the revelry inside spilling out. Over the beat of  _The Monster Mash_ he makes out his name. "Away!" he shouts, brain and mouth having trouble connecting. "I'm fine! Go away!"

Whoever it is laughs and wolf-whistles and Ben flushes red and hot right down to his toes, praying that they can't see what's happening between them.

Hux is utterly unbothered. He buries his face in Ben's hair for a moment, carefully getting his knuckles out away from the teeth of his zipper. "Turn around," he mutters, and Ben makes a sound of disbelief. "I'm not gonna fuck you," he teases. "I'm not that reckless." The little slip of enunciation goes right to Ben's gut.

Hux pulls away and makes a disgusted face at his hand. Ben slumps against the wall, searching his pockets clumsily and producing a crumpled handful of coffee shop napkins. Hux wipes his hands and frowns at the front of Ben's shirt. He cranes his neck around, scanning the yard for a trash can. Holding himself, Ben huffs and snatches the napkin away. He hastily wipes at his shirt, cursing himself for his habitually dark palette, and shoves the thing down into his pants pocket.

"Turn around?" Ben whispers.

Hux smiles, a cat with a canary, and nods. Ben turns and releases a shaky breath. He puts his hands against the wall, not knowing what else to do with them. Hux steps in close behind, resting his chin on Ben's shoulder. His zip is silent, only the quiet scrape of metal from the hook-and-eye giving him away.

"At the Academy, it wasn't ever easy to get condoms-- lube was even harder," he spoke quietly, his hands moving efficiently, quickly. "Had to use whatever you had immediately. Privacy didn't really exist as a concept." Ben asks if he went to school or a prison. "My father was the Commandant, the headmaster, I'm not sure there was much of a difference." Ben turns his head and Hux nuzzles closer, nose brushing the thickest part of the scar. "Had to improvise."

Ben began to panic.

"May I?" Hux asked, grasping the still open waist of his jeans.

"Yeah," Ben rasped, interested in spite of himself. Hux shimmies his jeans down gently, shorts tugging along with them. His hands were startling, solid warmth on Ben's thighs.

"Open your legs," Hux purrs. Ben does, still confused even as Hux licks his wn hand and slips it down again.

" _Oh_ ," Ben gasps, soft and dreamy, with Hux's cock between his thighs. He shifts and pulls his legs closer. Hux groans appreciatively, pushes his hips forward.

Ben melts into the wall. The rough scrape of it against his unmarred brow is grounding, reminding him that all of this is very real: Hux's warm, wet mouth against the ugliness that no one else will acknowledge--his trim and prim body against Ben's--hands in Ben's hair, on his hips--the strangeness of being fucked between the thighs, the absolute  _obscenity_ of it.

Hux presses in hard, grip on his hair insistent. Ben turns his head, the twist nearly painful, and kisses him full-on. Molten warmth and tension like a rubber band about to snap move though his gut and into his groin and even though he couldn't get hard again even if some genie came and granted him a wish, he dribbles embarrassingly into the elastic of his shorts.

"Oh, Ben," Hux breathes, and suddenly Ben's legs are wet and sticky. He's breathing heavily right against Ben's face. "Are you alright?"

Ben nods and whispers that he is. "They're gonna wonder where I am, or... or what I'm doing."

Hux agrees, his own probably curious as well. "Can I have another napkin?"

Ben hands him one without a word, bashfully rounding his shoulder in toward the wall once Hux has taken it to try and clean himself up.

With his clothes righted, jacket zipped to hid his stained shirt, Ben doesn't know what to do. He tries to sound more confident than he is. "We did this a little backward, but, can I buy you a drink?  _Witch's Brew_ was pretty good."

Hux laughs and bends to pick his cap up off the ground. Ben hadn't even noticed it fall. Hux places it back on his head. He smooths the front of his shirt and trousers. Aside from the clamminess of his forehead, no one would bat an eye at him. "I think I should get going, actually. I'm still a bit jet-lagged." 

It sounds like an excuse, even though Ben has no way to know if it's true. They shuffle casually back to the door.

"Maybe," Hux hesitates, "maybe one drink."

Inside, someone shouts at Ben over the sounds of some slasher's theme music. He waves them off, following Hux to a bit of open space in the corner, drinks in hand.

"So," Hux says, "now we both know something uncomfortably intimate for a stranger."

Ben  _giggles_ again and hates himself for it but the tension is broken. An unreasonably tall blonde woman works her way through the crowd toward them. Hux introduces her when she reaches them but Ben doesn't quite catch it.

They drink and Hux's tall friend drifts off. Hux dances sporadically when an actual song plays, moving like he's trying to prove every ounce of his sentiments about wearing a school uniform as a costume. Another drink and a filched tray of savory puffs later, Hux is yawning and it's contagious. "I'll be right back," he half-shouts over the noise and slips away. Ben follows the dark smudge of his cap through the crowd and assumes he finds his friend. Moments later he's back at Ben's side, covering his mouth again with the back of his hand. "I hate to leave, but I really ought to-- I can't rightly  _walk of shame_ into my nine o'clock." Ben feels like a balloon with the air let out. "I'll let you have another of my cigarettes if you wait for my ride with me? It looks like the parade crowd hasn't gone home yet. I don't want to have to actually  _talk_ to anyone." Ben eagerly agrees. He'll meet Hux outside, he needs to let his friends know where he's going. "Of course," Hux says and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Ben pushes through the party-goers to where he can see the group of familiar faces bunched together, dancing like a bunch of fools to the drone of  _Tubular Bells_. They bid him caution, uselessly, and he moves off to find Hux again. He's already blowing smoke out toward the curb when Ben peeks out the front door, face washed in the harsh glow of his phone. "Your friend isn't going with you?"

"Mm? No, she found some silly girl to spend the night with. I imagine there will be hair braiding and nail painting." Hux raises a brow, amused by his own sarcasm and passes Ben the cigarette he's already started. He pockets his phone and lights a fresh one for himself. "Traffic's bad, evidently."

Ben shuffles his feet awkwardly. "So, you're in town on business then?"

"Yes. I was kind of glad it fell around this time. No one else does Halloween up quite like Americans. Packed this nonsense just for it." He gestures to himself and grins.

Ben thinks of asking him what he does for a living and stops, bored by the cop-out question before it even comes out.

"Maybe next time, I'll have to finally ruin these knees."

Ben coughs, brow shot right into his hairline. "Excuse me?" Hux laughs and asks him if he needs to be more plain. "No, I just..." He flicks away ash. It glows for a few seconds, smoldering before it hits the ground. "Next time?"

"Yes, if you want. I told you, Ben. I like you." The smile that tugs at one side of his mouth is downright sinful.

"I, um, yeah. Next time." He feels his eyes widen. "I mean--I'd like to see you again, too. Before you leave. I assume you're leaving."

Hux laughs. "Yes, another week at least, I think. I'm trying to secure a buy-out. The old man who runs the place is, well, less than agreeable. Likes to shout, pretend he's frightening." Hux puffs and sighs, blowing smoke away. "It's a shame, really." He puffs again, slowly.

"What's a shame?" A group of people in elaborate costumes struts by. The rot on their faces and arms is squeamishly realistic, their clothes tattered.

"That there's no time now." Hux leans in conspiratorially. "These things make it  _awful_ easy." Hux catches Ben's lips in his. Ben's mouth floods with the taste of smoke and he lets Hux in, clinging to it when he pulls away.

Ben closes his eyes, straightens up, and stubs his cigarette out on the edge of the trash-tray near the door. "Yeah," he says, "real shame."

With Hux safely in the back of a car, Ben finds his way back inside to find everyone else getting ready to leave. In his pocket, his phone vibrates with a text. 

 _Hux._ It says.  _Next time._

**Author's Note:**

> They are at a party and there is drinking, but no one concerned is inebriated, even if excuses are made. CD mention tag for Han.
> 
> Story is set in the TFA continuity within the AU. [Ben's] injuries from TFA are due to a vaguely referenced "accident/wreck" and while healed, are not easy to look at. He experiences diminished vision in one eye. Ben speaks very frankly about what happened and makes some light jokes at his own expense. His internal dialogue references difficulty with relating to and interacting with people after the incident and feeling a lack of agency in his own care. He references feeling "ugly." As it is Halloween, the people around him do think that his scar is a very skillful makeup, which he recognizes makes interactions less difficult. 
> 
> Hux is taken aback by Ben's bluntness and sharing of personal details with a complete stranger. He very quickly warms up to Ben (as you can probably guess from the tags and rating) and makes it a point to interact with the scar by kissing or otherwise touching that side of his face. He also makes it a point to consistently request consent for touches or otherwise. While to me, the feeling I began writing it with from Ben's perspective was very emotional (and projecting a lot of my own insecurity onto him), I can see where to some it may read as fetish on Hux's part.
> 
> Shout out to darthkylorevan for their enthusiasm during the original posting.
> 
> Hux's bit of dirty talk at the end is in reference to the fact that evidently clove cigarettes have a little bit of an anesthetizing effect so he's claiming he has no trouble with his gag reflex, just in case that wasn't clear.
> 
> Comments are so so very appreciated much more than you know. You can find me [on tumblr @avaahren ](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/178565031214/moulage-aryagreenleaf)


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